


Put The Case To Bed

by ioanite



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Mystery, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 14:24:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3491651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ioanite/pseuds/ioanite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Technology is a marvelous, bizarre thing. Even when you're under the weather, it allows you to participate in ways you could only previously dream of...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put The Case To Bed

_How It Began_

“I keep telling you, you need to be extra-careful from October to March!” Abe scolded, as Henry tried to dry off with trembling hands, “That’s the only way to keep things like this from happening.”

“I t-try,” Henry shot back, leaning in closer to the car’s heater to try to get some feeling back in his fingers, “B-but it’s not like I c-can help it sometimes.”

Abe’s tone softened. “I know, I know. What was it this time? A mugger?”

A little color came back into Henry’s face, despite the chattering teeth. “I s-slipped on the ice.” He murmured.

“What was that?” Henry couldn’t tell if Abe sounded annoyed or amused.

“I slipped on the ice,” Henry repeated, “I t-turned a corner, h-hit an icy p-patch of sidewalk, and l-landed in j-just the right w-way to break my n-neck.”

“And then you wound up in the ice-cold Hudson water. Perfect capper.” Abe said sarcastically, turning up the heat as far as it would go. Henry just shivered and curled in on himself. The temperature had been well below freezing when he’d died, and it had started snowing by the time his head broke the surface of the river. There was no way he was getting out of this without feeling the aftereffects of the cold. And based on how badly he was shivering, this wasn’t a chill he could just work through.

“I’ll c-call in sick this week,” he said aloud, mostly to mollify Abe somewhat, “That way I c-can devote my energies to recovering.”

“Good luck with that,” Abe said, even as he passed Henry the spare scarf they kept in the back, “Your plans never turn out that simply.”  
***

_Day One_

“Henry? _Henry!_ ”

Someone was shaking him, gently but insistently. Henry reluctantly floated back to consciousness, feeling the shivering start up again. “Wh’ is’t?” he mumbled, not wanting to move and make the shivering worse.

“I’m really sorry, Henry,” Abe said, thrusting his phone under Henry’s nose, “It’s Jo. I tried to explain to her that you’re sick, but she’s not taking no for an answer. Maybe you can convince her.”

Henry took the phone (a tremor running up his arm as he did so) and put it to his ear. “Detective Martinez,” he said as politely as he could manage, “What’s going on?”

“Henry, I am _so_ sorry to call you. Lucas said you hadn’t been in to work and Abe tried to talk me out of this, but this is important. We just got a report that one of our officers was found dead in some back alley. He wasn’t on duty at the time, which complicates matters. We don’t like it when one of our own goes down. I need you and your deductive skills on this one.”

"I wish I could help, Jo, really I do, but…” Henry shuddered, “I’ve got a fever. Just the act of getting out of bed and getting dressed will take me half-an-hour at this rate. Besides, I wouldn’t want to infect any of the investigators.”

“I appreciate that,” Jo said, sympathy in her voice, “But…isn’t there _something_ you could do?”

“I’m afraid not,” Henry sighed, “This cold of mine just started, and they tend to lay me low for at least five days. I’m at my worst, in all respects, on the first two days, when the fever’s highest. I wouldn’t be of any use to you.”

“Give yourself some credit, Henry,” Jo answered, “Your mind’s amazing, even if the germs are forcing it to work at the level of us mere mortals.”

Henry paused for a moment at the phrasing, but tried not to let anything show in his voice. “Maybe so, but the fact still remains that physically, I’d be huddled up in a corner, wearing a thick coat and three extra scarves, looking in danger of and indeed quite possibly passing out. As much as I want to assist you, I’m in no condition for it at the moment. I’m sure you’ll be fine without me.”

Jo sighed heavily. “All right, Henry. But I may ask for your help when you’re back on your feet.”

“And I’ll be more than happy to he…” A particularly harsh shiver shot through him at that moment, which must have triggered something in his sinuses, “ _Heh…Hek-SHH!_ ” He barely managed to turn his head away to avoid spraying Abe’s phone. The sneeze seemed to redouble his shivering, and he sniffed wetly and let out an involuntary groan. This was not going to be an easy five days.

“Bless you,” he could actually hear the wince in Jo’s voice, “Get some rest. I’ll keep you informed.”

“Good luck, Jo.” Henry replied, before decisively ending the call and handing the phone back to Abe. Abe rubbed the screen with a tissue just in case, shaking his head. “Thanks for standing your ground, Henry. The last thing both of us need is for this to turn into something worse.”

“I said I’d stay in bed, and that’s just what I intend to do,” Henry replied, burrowing as deep under the covers as he could, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to try to get back to sleep.”

“All right,” Abe’s voice was sympathetic, “I’ll keep some soup on the burner if you feel up to eating later.” Henry nodded his thanks and closed his eyes.

He woke up two hours later, his chills having abated for the moment. As he gingerly sat up in bed, Abe entered the room, a strange look of irritation and amusement on his face. “Thank goodness you’re up! My phone has been pinging non-stop for the past hour!”

“Why, what’s going on?”

“Jo’s been snapping pictures of the crime scene and sending them to my phone. She says she ‘wants to make sure she doesn’t miss anything that might be important’. I swear she took a picture of every section of wall in the alley. And that’s not even getting into the photos of the ground surrounding the body.”

Henry held out his hand. “Let me look.”

“Are you sure?”

Henry shrugged, “The fever isn’t too bad right now. I might as well take advantage of it. Besides, that way Jo won’t keep…starring you?”

“Spamming,” Abe corrected, passing over the phone, “Promise me you won’t head over there if the picture turn up something interesting.”

“You have my word,” Henry said, flicking through the photos (Abe hadn’t been joking; it looked like there were about fifty of them), “I’ll be staying right here for five days.”

In the end, not knowing exactly what to look for, he had Abe text back his few observations about the newspaper dated six months ago found alongside the body and the way the victim’s hands had been clearly arranged into the “hands up” position. “Is that it?” Abe said, as he send the text.

“The autopsy will take place tomorrow,” Henry said, “So Lucas may call me up to report his findings. But otherwise, I don’t foresee too much interruption. Now, did you say something about soup?”  
***

_Day Two_

“…to see if it works…”

“…really needs his rest…”

“…already set up…”

“…lutely not…”

It was only when the voices appeared outside his bedroom door that Henry realized that he wasn’t just hearing feverish delusions. “What’s going on?” he called out (though really, “whispered” was the better word).

The door opened a crack. “Jo’s got some harebrained scheme that would involve you directing the autopsy from bed,” Abe said gruffly, “I’ve been trying to tell her you’re in no condition to do so.”

Henry blinked. “Did you just say directing the autopsy from bed, or is the medication messing with my head more than usual?”

“I know, it’s unbelievable, but Jo seems to think it’ll work.”

“Can I come in, Henry?” Jo said from somewhere in the hall, “At the very least, I can try to explain this in person.”

Intrigued despite himself, Henry gestured at the door. “Let her in, Abraham.”

“But…”

“It’s all right. If it’s ridiculous, we can just send her on her way.”

He thought he could hear Abe grumbling, but the door opened a little wider and Jo came in, wearing a face mask. “Thanks Henry. I know I’m disturbing your rest, but, well…everybody in the department wants this solved fast and to the best of our abilities. And we all feel that you’re a big part of that.”

“It’s nice to know my talents are appreciated,” Henry smiled faintly, “Now, what exactly is this plan? You don’t intend to wheel me in to direct proceedings through a two-way mirror, do you?”

“We _definitely_ don’t have the resources for that,” Jo chuckled, holding up a rectangular object, “My idea’s a little more high-tech.”

Henry cocked his head at her, encouraging her to continue. She obliged; “I’ve got one tablet, and Hanson’s got another one in the morgue. We’ll connect on Skype, boost the volume, and then you can talk Lucas through the autopsy and get a close look for yourself. What do you say?”

Henry had only understood about two-thirds of that explanation, and the missing third was what really counted. So he just shrugged non-committally. “I suppose I’m game to try. But I have no idea how helpful I’ll actually be. My fever could spike again at any time, and the medication I’m on can leave me a little…disoriented. Not to mention the state of my voice.”

“We’ll try to be quick,” Jo assured him, fiddling with the tablet, “Just tell me when you’re starting to fade, and we’ll stop. Even if you only find one potential lead, you’ll have done enough.”

She dragged a chair over to Henry’s bed and sat down next to him before pressing a button on the tablet. There were a few strange chirping noises, then Detective Hanson’s voice came from the tablet. “That you, Jo?”

Fortunately, Jo was still fiddling with the tablet and didn’t see Henry’s eyes widen in surprise. These technological advancements were getting more elaborate by the year. “Yeah, it’s me,” Jo said, passing over the tablet, “And here’s Henry. Is Lucas ready?”

Henry looked at the tablet, his disbelief increasing still further as he saw Hanson looking at him skeptically on the screen, while Lucas bustled around in the morgue behind him. “Heya, Doc. You don’t look so hot. You sure you’re up for this?”

“We’ll find out, won’t we,” Henry answered, “Can you hear me all right? My voice isn’t at its best.”

“We upped the volume high as it can go. Hopefully it’ll be fine. Let’s get this over with; I want to get out there and give Olsen the justice he deserves.”

“Understood,” Henry said, and suddenly the image spun around and focused on Lucas, who was standing by the body, looking from it to the screen. “This is really weird. Like, _really_ weird. I feel like I’m in some sort of hostage, attached-to-a-bomb-that-explodes-if-I-do-one-thing-wrong situation.”

“Lucas,” Henry said firmly, though his tone was hampered somewhat by the rasp in his voice, “Concentrate on the body. I’m just directing you through the autopsy, nothing more. Pretend it’s me instead of Hanson standing next to you.”

“That’s supposed to calm me down?” Lucas said, but obligingly turned to the body. “What do I do first?”

Henry raised his voice. “Let me see the body, Hanson.”

“I can hear you just fine, Doc. Don’t strain your voice on my account.” Hanson answered, his voice coming through clearly despite not being in view. The image on screen turned to the body. Henry considered for a minute. “Start with the chest. If there’s no obvious bullet or stab wounds, maybe we can find some sort of internal damage.”

And thus began one of the more surreal operations Henry had ever performed. Not actually being there, yet seeing everything, was an almost out-of-body experience. It didn’t help that Hanson kept muttering about sore arms and the smell, while Lucas broke in every five minutes to comment on the strangeness of the situation. There were moments when Henry wondered if he _was_ actually just hallucinating the whole thing. Abe _really_ needed to find better types of cold medication.

Twenty minutes in, and they hadn’t found anything too out of the ordinary. “What’s the liver look like?” Henry prompted Lucas, rubbing the bridge of his nose. There was a growing heaviness developing in his head, and he wasn’t sure if it was the beginnings of a headache, a signal that his fever was coming back, or a warning that he was starting to develop congestion. Either way, it was in his best interest to wrap this up.

“Not good,” Lucas answered, presumably poking at the liver (Hanson’s arm reach had its limits, and he’d already made it clear he had no intention of getting close to Lucas when he was holding a scalpel), “Looks like pretty bad Cirrhosis. Jeez, with this much scar tissue, he had to have been drinking at least three bottles a day.”

“Drinking?” Jo piped up, “No, no, Olsen didn’t drink. He hated the taste and lost a friend in college to a drunk driver. He never touched the stuff.”

“Well, unless he had Hepatitis or secretly took Ecstasy, that’s the only possible explanation for a liver that looks this bad.”

“Lucas,” Henry said quickly, “Check the liver and the muscles above it for puncture wounds.”

There was a minute’s silence as Lucas poked around. Then the answer came through. “Yeah, there’s an obvious puncture wound. It just looked like a small scrape on the surface.”

“Run a toxicology report on the liver immediately,” Henry said, feeling the familiar rush of excitement, “Whatever you find, that’s what killed Olsen.”

“You got it,” Lucas said, equally excited, “It should be ready by the end of the day.”

“Good job, Doc,” Hanson said, spinning the screen round to let Henry see his face, “We’re one step closer to catching this bastard.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Henry said, “Besides, I won’t say no to such a novel ex…”

At that moment, an itch sprang up in his nose; congestion, then. He managed to raise a hand in warning before turning to the side. “ _Exshht! Kshht!_ ”

“Bless you.” Hanson and Jo said simultaneously. Henry laughed softly. “Thank you. Now, Detectives, if one of you could end this connection so I could get some rest…?”

Jo took the tablet away and pressed a few buttons, shutting it off. “Seriously, Henry, we can’t thank you enough for this. I’ll let you know what we find, but hopefully this is the last time we’ll have to trouble you.”

“Anything to help,” Henry said with a smile, “I hope the reports turn up a decent lead.”

“Me too.” Jo answered, before giving him a wave and leaving the room. Still, it was another five minutes before Henry heard the store door open and close. She must have been doing her best to placate Abe. Henry knew he was in for a lecture, and just hoped he looked pathetic enough to keep the scolding to a minimum.  
***

_Day Three_

Henry woke up the next morning with a reduced fever, which was the good news. The bad news was, it had been replaced by a throat that combined the worst effects of soreness and congestion. Trying to wish Abe a good morning had ended with Henry bent forward, coughing harshly into an elbow while his throat throbbed in protest. Even after a few sips of water and a minute or so of sitting upright, Henry’s vocal chords refused to produce any kind of sound at all. He shrugged apologetically at Abe, who waved him off and went downstairs to get pencil and paper in case Henry desperately needed to say something.

For a while, it was a relatively normal day. Abe looked after the store and came up every half-hour to check on Henry, while Henry, true to his word, stayed in bed, reading and occasionally taking cough drops. Other than the occasional cough or sneeze, it was actually rather peaceful.

That peace ended shortly after Noon. Henry was just finishing the chapter when he heard the downstairs bell ring, followed by Abe’s voice clearly saying “Oh no, not today.” Then a female voice spoke up, and Henry knew at once that Jo was downstairs. He leaned back in bed, listening to the rise and fall of voices, curious to see how this would play out.

The bell jingled again, and Henry heard Abe coming upstairs. When he entered the room, he had several folders in his hand and a put-out expression on his face. “Unbelievable! Jo’s got a lot of nerve, you know that, Henry?”

Henry pointed at the folders and arched his eyebrows. Abe sighed. “They found clear evidence of poisoning in the victim’s liver. He was injected with a massive dose of Ecstasy, enough to kill him pretty quickly. Based on that, they combed through the files and found all known criminals who deal with that drug. They narrowed it down as best they could, but Jo was hoping you could look through these five rap sheets and close the gap even further. She threw in the tox report and Olsen’s file for good measure. I tried to tell her you had no way of reporting your findings, but she was convinced you’d find a way. Besides, she thinks it’ll only take a few minutes, and then you can go back to resting. Should I just hide these somewhere and tell her you spent today sleeping?”

Henry gave him a look and shook his head, holding out a hand for the folders. Abe rolled his eyes even as he passed them over. “You’re too helpful for your own good. Fine, but she better be right that this won’t take long. And how exactly do you plan to tell her what you’ve found?”

Henry just grinned and pointed at Abe. “So what, now I’m your messenger boy? The things I do for you…” He left the room, still grumbling, while Henry opened the first file, pencil at the ready to take notes.

Jo had already done most of the heavy lifting. All five of the suspects had been arrested by Olsen for Ecstasy possession in the past six months, lived fairly close to the alley where Olsen was found, and had the body strength to drag or carry Olsen to the scene. But there was one detail she’d overlooked; medical experience. You needed to have more than a passing knowledge of anatomy to know how to inject a poison directly into the liver. Looking through the background checks finally gave him what he was looking for—Edgar Lynch, 32, had an undergraduate degree in chemistry, with a minor in biology. None of the others even came close to possessing the technical know-how to manufacture drugs or figure out precisely where to strike to kill.

Collecting the folders, he rapped them against the bedside table until Abe reappeared. “Yes, my liege?” he said sarcastically.

Henry quickly scribbled out a note; _Text Jo. Edgar Lynch. Has Bio and Chemistry experience. Best lead right now._

Abe looked over the note and pulled out his phone. “You both owe me for this, you realize,” he said, as he started fiddling with the various buttons, “I don’t mind helping now and then, but this is getting ridiculous.”

Henry smiled and nodded, already considering the ways he could pay Abe back. Jo must have been thinking along the same lines, because when Abe’s phone pinged two minutes later, he chuckled a little. “She’s heading out to track him down now. She thanked both of us for our help, gave me some very flattering praise, and hopes you’ll feel better soon.”

Henry coughed and picked up his book again. As long as he didn’t have many more interruptions, he was sure he’d be back on his feet by the end of the week.  
***

_Day Four_

“Here we go again…” Abe sighed, entering Henry’s room with his cell phone, “Thank goodness my phone plan has unlimited minutes, or I’d be presenting Jo with a bill for services rendered.”

“What is it this time?” Henry asked, looking up from his handkerchief. The soreness in his throat had vanished, allowing him to speak again, but now the congestion had migrated into his air passages, leaving him unintelligible at the best of times and a sneezing wreck the rest of the time.

“I’ll just let her tell you, shall I?” Abe said, pressing a button on the phone and passing it over. Henry put the phone to his ear and braced himself. “Hello?”

“Henry?” Jo sounded hesitant, “Is that you? I’m not sure if we have a bad connection, or…”

“It’s me,” Henry assured her, sniffing wetly and wincing at the sound, “And it’s less the connection and more my voice.”

“Jeez…” Jo sounded both disgusted and sympathetic, “Are you feeling all right, at least?”

“As well as can be expected, I suppose. But you didn’t call me to inquire about my health.”

“You’re right, though it’s good to know you’re feeling a bit better. Here’s the deal. We’re going to be interrogating Lynch in five minutes. I wanted you to be able to hear him for yourself so you can tell us if he’s lying or not. I know it’s not as good as seeing it in person, but we just want an extra set of ears.”

“I’m more than willing to do it. But…this isn’t breaking any rules, is it?”

“I double checked with Lieutenant Reece, and she says it should be all right. We record with cameras all the time anyway, not to mention having people on the other side of the mirror. She does want you to try to keep quiet, though; Lynch was hostile when we brought him in, so if he knew other people were actively listening in, he might get uncooperative.”

“I’ll do my best,” Henry promised her, “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” she said, before Hanson’s voice floated in. Henry could hear chatter and phones ringing in the background, and knew she’d left her phone on in order to let him listen in. He took advantage of the moment to clear out his nose to the best of his ability; one sniff could ruin everything, and he wasn’t about to mess things up if he could help it.

He heard a door close, and sat up a little straighter, listening carefully. “All right, Mr. Lynch,” Jo said, as a chair scraped somewhere close by, “We’re currently justified in holding you for resisting arrest, but we’ll be willing to reduce that sentence somewhat if you’re cooperative.”

“Yeah, by digging myself deeper and admitting to murder,” an annoyed voice responded, though Henry couldn’t help but notice that despite the broad New York accent, there seemed to be something a little more refined lurking in his voice, “That sounds _really_ useful to me.”

“Let’s just take this one step at a time,” Jo said, “When was the last time you saw Detective Keith Olsen?”

“Five months ago, when he testified at my trial.”

“You haven’t seen him since?”

“Why would I want to keep in touch? Bad enough I need to contact my parole officer every week.”

“All right, so what about drugs?” Hanson interjected, “You been making any Ecstasy lately?”

“A, why on earth would I admit that, and B, no. I know better than to violate my parole.”

“It says here in your file that you graduated with a degree in Chemistry. What exactly made you decide to use that degree to make illegal drugs?” Jo asked.

“I was young, ok?!” Lynch burst out, “Young, broke, and stupid. I had to pay off my college debts somehow, and I knew from the party scene that Ecstasy would sell well. It was just a matter of getting the materials. And after I’d paid off my debts, I thought, hey, being able to live comfortably for doing something relatively simple isn’t such a bad deal. So I kept going…at least until Olsen caught me.”

There was real pain in Lynch’s voice, but even more surprisingly, there was regret. Henry was willing to bet that whatever Lynch had been doing since he’d been paroled, he was actually trying to make a go of going straight. He wondered if Jo was picking up on that, too.

Just as Jo was asking what Lynch had been doing with himself after being paroled, Henry’s nose chose that moment to misbehave. He pressed the back of his hand to his nose, trying to keep the itch at bay, but that only delayed it for a minute or so. Holding his breath, Henry groped for his handkerchief and covered his nose completely to muffle the sound, pinching it for good measure. Unfortunately, if there was one thing he’d learned from years of experience, stifling made things quieter…but it just prolonged the fit.

So as Lynch explained that he had a job working for a warehouse and volunteered his time at an addiction center, Henry was left with one hand pressing his ear to the phone to catch every detail and the other hand clamping his nose shut to prevent any sound from escaping. His eyes were screwed shut, his shoulders bobbed with every sneeze, and the itch in his nose didn’t show any signs of abating. He was glad he wasn’t physically present at the questioning; Lynch would have taken one look at him and burst out laughing.

It was a good three minutes before the itch finally let up, by which point Jo and Hanson were drawing things to a close. “And you haven’t been in contact with any of your former dealers or assistants?”

“Only one, Jake. But he was at the center as a patient. Trust me, he was in no condition to kill anyone, and was closely monitored besides.”

“All right, Mr. Lynch, I think we’ve got enough for now. We may bring you back for a few questions later.”

“Am I…am I still a suspect?” Lynch sounded hesitant.

“We’ll see.” was all Hanson said, before chairs scraped again and a door opened. There was a moment’s pause, and then Lynch said, “Oh, by the way, Detective, you may want to check your phone. Judging from the squeaking noises it was making, you’ve either got an urgent message or it’s in need of repair. My phone did the same thing when one of the wires was fried.”

Henry felt the heat rise to his face. Jo just said something vague. The moment the door had closed, Jo’s voice got a lot closer. “What do you think, Henry?”

Henry tried to answer coherently, but his failed attempt at keeping quiet had left him with a lot of congestion. “He didn’t…” he sniffed, rubbing his nose, “He didn’t do it. He…” another sniff, “He sounded too regretful for me to…” a third sniff, this one accompanied by a running nose and a mad scramble for the handkerchief “…to believe that he’s not sincere.”

“I was getting the same impression,” Jo said, “I’m guessing you’ll suggest we investigate the clinic?”

“Yes,” Henry said, gently massaging his nose to try to keep the sniffs at bay, “But I would focus more on the volunteers than on the patients. They’re more likely to have medical knowledge.” Desperate for relief, he pressed the handkerchief to his nose and made a noise that sounded vaguely like the garbage disposal in the kitchen. “Pardon me.” he apologized into the phone, blushing again.

“Take a rest, Henry,” Jo said gently, “You’ve earned it. I swear, I’ll try not to bother you again.”

“It’s not a bother. I understand how you feel. I should be back at work in a day or two. You can fill me in on all the details then.”

“We’d better head to the clinic before it closes. See you soon, Henry.”

With that, the phone shut off. Henry set it on the bedside table for Abe to retrieve and fell back against the mattress. He wondered if he’d be able to get a few minutes rest before the sneezing started up again.  
***

_Day Five_

A soft knock on the door caused Henry to raise his head from his book. “Henry, it’s Jo. Can I come in?”

“Of course,” Henry answered, setting the book aside, “Though I’m a little surprised you got past Abe.”

“I promised him this wouldn’t take long,” she said, entering the room (sans face mask, Henry noticed) “And it really won’t. I just need you to sign some paperwork confirming your participation in the Olsen investigation.”

“Is it over, then?” Henry said, accepting the folder and pen from her and starting to scan the contents.

“Yes, thankfully,” Jo said, a mixture of relief, pleasure, and sadness in her voice, “Turns out it was one of Lynch’s fellow volunteers. He was a medical student who was only volunteering in hopes of getting leads on where to score drugs. When Lynch refused to go back to making Ecstasy, the kid though he’d kill two birds with one stone by getting rid of one of our best drug-busting cops and framing Lynch for it. Based on how he started crying when we arrested him, he’s only just now realizing how much trouble he’s in.”

“At least you caught him,” Henry said, nodding his approval of the papers and starting to sign, “And the police can rest a little easier. Did you know Olsen well?”

“We were friendly, but not close. Hanson and I just wanted to solve it to show the criminals out there that the New York police are _not_ to be trifled with.”

“And you’ve done an excellent job of that,” Henry assured her, writing the last ‘n’ with a flourish, “This should make a lot of drug dealers uneasy, and ensure more background checks for the various addiction clinics as a side effect.”

Jo smiled a little as she took the paperwork back. “It’s nice to know you’ve made a difference, isn’t it?”

“That it is,” Henry agreed, “Even if you never see it, knowing it happened can get you through a dark spell.”

He coughed lightly and took a sip of water. “How are you feeling?” Jo asked.

“I believe I’ve mostly recovered. There’s still some congestion in my nose and throat, but my temperature’s been normal all morning. I should be back to work tomorrow.”

“That’s good to hear,” Jo said, “Maybe now we won’t have to worry about incurring Abe’s wrath.”

Henry laughed. “He’s just a bit protective. He’ll calm down once it’s obvious I’m fighting fit again.”

Jo grinned. “Speaking of, time to get out of here before he comes pounding on the door demanding I leave. See you tomorrow, Henry. And thanks again.”

Henry waved her off and returned to his book. He might as well take advantage of his last sick day before being thrust back into the fray.  
***

_Aftermath_

“Good morning, Lucas,” Henry said as he entered the morgue, already in the process of removing his scarf, “I trust that we haven’t been swamped with work in my absence?”

“Hey, you’re back!” Lucas said, grinning broadly, “Feeling better?”

“For the most part,” Henry said, wanting to keep personal discussions to a minimum, “Anything I should know about?”

“Actually, Lieutenant Reece wanted to see you upstairs. Something about a typo in the paperwork?”

Henry shrugged and turned back towards the door. “All right, but I’m not sure what she expects me to do about it. Unless I somehow managed to misspell my own name, it’s a clerical error more than anything.”

He took the elevator upstairs, hoping this matter wouldn’t take long; the sooner he got back into a routine, the better. Illness always slowed him down, both physically and mentally, and he liked to shake off the cobwebs as fast as possible.

The elevator door pinged open, and the first thing Henry became aware of was the rush of applause. Blinking, he saw that the entire Homicide division was on its feet, clapping and smiling at him. Taken aback, he wasn’t sure if he should step farther into the elevator or exit into the room. Before he could make up his mind, Jo stepped forward, taking his arm and pulling him forward. “I told them they didn’t need to do this, but they were kinda insistent. They seemed intent on thanking you.”

“But I didn’t _do_ anything!” Henry protested.

“Hanson and I did the legwork, but you were the one who put most of the pieces together. Besides, I told you early on in the case, we take the loss of one of our own hard. Solving it makes us feel like celebrating, one way or another. You just happened to provide a convenient reason.”

She led Henry over to her desk, grinning broadly. “Stop it, guys, you’re embarrassing him.” she called over her shoulder, and the clapping slowly died down. Then she presented Henry with a bottle of wine and a small, plastic card. “We chipped in and got this for you and Abe. Hopefully he’ll accept it as payment for using him as our go-between. If not, at least he can use the card to track down ingredients for an elaborate meal. I know how much he enjoys cooking.”

Henry numbly pocketed the card and turned the wine over in his hands, not really seeing the label. “I…thank you. Really, this isn’t necessary.”

“Maybe not to _you_ ,” Lieutenant Reece said from somewhere behind him, “But we’re allowed to dole out praise as we see fit.”

Henry turned to face her, and saw her giving him an uncharacteristically warm smile. “I just talked to the chief. He agreed that, in light of your service, that this past week won’t count against your sick days. It’ll be considered a normal work week.”

While Henry was trying to process that, the elevator door pinged again, and Lucas’ voice called out “I got the cake!”

“Cake?” Henry said faintly.

“Made it myself!” Lucas said, placing a cake box on Jo’s desk, “Or, well, I asked the bakery to make it, but I was the one who came up with the inscription!”

Feeling like it was expected of him, Henry opened the box to see a chocolate frosted cake inscribed with THANKS FOR YOUR HELP, DR. MORGAN in yellow icing. There was a crude scalpel iced on one side, and an odd, looped shape in blue that Henry then realized was supposed to represent one of his scarves. Lucas had thought of everything.

“I’d considered having them do it in red,” Lucas was saying, “But then I decided that was a _little_ morbid. Better to do in in heroic gold.”

Henry sniffed wetly and turned away, digging around for his handkerchief. “You ok, Henry?” Jo asked, “Or is that the last of your cold making its way through your system?”

“Something like that.” Henry said, blinking rapidly as he hid his face behind the cloth. After a moment, he cleared his throat and straightened up. “Lucas, since you requested it, I suppose you should have the honor of cutting the cake. I’ll take the piece with the scarf.”


End file.
